


call me yours

by charcoalscenes



Series: Call Me 'verse [1]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: 96 is an asshole, Alternate Universe - Human, Dirty Talk, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Rough Body Play, inaccurate callboy fic, yeah this is supposed to be funny so hope you laugh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 20:19:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3783085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcoalscenes/pseuds/charcoalscenes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I like you too, Yuma.” Ninety-six smiles; Yuma can hear it. “But you know that already. Are you alone again, pet, all by yourself?" </p>
<p>• </p>
<p>Yuma makes the mistake of having the wrong first crush, another mistake of making a certain phonecall, and yet another mistake of accepting a certain gift. </p>
<p>Tentacleshipping. Download this fic, then without even reading it, move it straight to the trash, where it belongs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the first chapter 2-3 years ago as a oneshot and recently reread it for the LOL's, then decided, "Hey, I'll continue this. It'll feel like a terrible mistake afterward. I'll still do it." But that's also the reason why only the first chapter is told in past-tense, while the last two are in present tense. Hope you enjoy! I'm sorry.

A music teacher came up to him in his first year of high school - told him he had a great voice, told him that if he attended afterschool lessons that maybe he could sing.  He never did.  But, for some reason, his mind decided to keep that little compliment in a corner until senior year, when he decided to take that teacher’s word and put his vocals to good use. 

“Ahhh, just like that,” he smiled into the microphone, tightening his throat just a bit so that an almost-purr rumbled through his lips.  "But this won’t do for long.  Sweetheart, what did we say about how far you need to  **bend**?  I want to ram you into the floor, baby.“ 

"O _hhh_ ,” came the reply from the small speakers.  The woman’s voice (or the girl’s, because they always say they’re legal, and he knows that little schoolgirls like to do this when their parents aren’t home) began to pant, and Ninety-six grit his teeth to keep from snickering at the possibility of her touching herself to him.  "Ohhh.  You can’t just do this slowly.  You have to ram me harder, please-!" 

Ninety-six seethed into the mic, smiling as the woman took his imaginary thrusting and started to scream.  He could feel his jaw begin to complain at just how hard and how long he’d been grinding his teeth together to keep from laughing, but he had to; the last guy at the booth beside him had gotten fired for breaking his caller’s fantasy by giggling. 

He grunted in the midst of his client’s moans, glancing at his watch and totaling up the time with this caller in particular.  Unfortunately, this one preferred spontaneity, and she obviously had a thing for being rough and fast, so this call would be over quickly.  Barely nine munny.  He didn’t bother keeping back the disappointed groan, and scowled as the woman took it as an orgasm, sounding as though she was finishing off herself. 

•

"This is my last one and I’m out,” he informed the desk.  He released the hold button and leaned back, tipping his chair and taking in the one-in-the-morning caller while wondering what he’d eat for breakfast.  "Good morning, precious,” he rumbled.  They liked it when he rumbled.  He was told it sounded  _beastly_.  "Tell me, what’s your name?” 

“Just call me ‘your favorite’ or something.  But ‘precious’ sounds fine.” 

Ninety-six froze, and caught himself just in time to grab a hold of the table in front of him to keep from falling back with his chair.  He didn’t do video calls, but he knew that voice, the dumb squeakiness, knew who it was, and damn well knew that the kid wasn’t legal yet.  It started to seem like the holders were starting to just not care. 

“L-Listen,” Yuma stammered, forcing his voice to sound hard and tough.  "I’ve never…done this sort of thing before. I don’t know how it works.  But-…y-you do things like r-roleplay, …right?“ 

Sweet fuck.  Ninety-six jammed his knuckles into his mouth to keep from whooping as he rocked back and forth in glee as quietly as he could.  Yet as fun as it was to relish, he couldn’t keep Yuma waiting; even though the boy was dense, Ninety-six couldn’t assume that Yuma would be unable to recognize him by voice alone.  He had to keep up the purrs and the grates and the ridiculous Batman-esque throatwork if he didn’t want his normal voice to break through. 

He breathed in slowly and took his time letting it out, composing himself even as Yuma impatiently snapped, "Hey!  I  _am_  paying for this, you know; it’d be nice if you answered today.” 

“ _Shh._   Of course I roleplay, precious.”  His smile kissed the microphone as he momentarily forgot what other workers before him might have done to it.  "Come closer, and I’ll guide you through everything.“

"No, actually.” Yuma groaned, and not in a way Ninety-six would have preferred.  The boy sighed.  "I, um.  I have something specific.  I want you to…be someone that I know.  You can do that too, right?" 

• 

_Nevermind, Kotori_ , he said.   _Don’t worry about me_ , he said.   _This jerk isn’t going to be able to mess with me_ , he said.   _He isn’t even my friend_ , he said.   _I’m straight_ , he said - and then felt it more fitting to ask. 

"And who would that be?” The man on the other line began to sound irritated - probably because Yuma was reluctant, but he couldn’t help it.  It wasn’t that he liked Ninety-six.  It was just that…the guy was so pretty, and touchy, and Yuma’s grandma did say that Yuma was a  _growing boy_.  And something about the way Ninety-six always spoke to him, and the way he always tried to grab onto him and muss with him just whispered in the ear if Yuma’s growing libido something about sex. 

“The name doesn’t matter,” Yuma huffed, defensive and still ashamed that he thought of that jerk in this way.  "I just-  …He’s an asshat, and he’s always trying to mess with me, but he’s…okay to hang out with when he’s in a good mood, I guess, and-…he’s…attractive.  Sort of." 

There was a brief silence before Yuma’s…paid confidant asked, "And how does he look like?  Act like?”  Did it even matter that much?  Yuma frowned, not knowing if he was feeling uncomfortable or suspicious; he supposed these questions were important if he wanted the guy to get in-character, but he sounded angry, almost - interrogating.  "Does he have a  _pet name_?“ The question was snapped. 

"…Black Mist,” Yuma grumbled.  "Or 'master.’  He’s always telling me to call him 'master’ or 'honey’ or something, but I never do.  And I’m not going to call him any of that right now either!” 

Something from the other side of the conversation crashed, and at that, Yuma huffed out, “What is  _going on_  in there?  If you’re stalling just to pull more munny out of my pocket then I’m hanging up and not paying. I’m pretty sure I gave you more information than you need.  Are you going to talk dirty to me or  _what_?” 

“Hush, hush, my toy,” the man crooned, his breathing suddenly ragged.  "Don’t be impatient.  We’re not going to get anywhere if you don’t wait like a good boy and do what I tell you.“ 

Hm.  Well, that was better.  He’s finally getting stared.  Yuma slumped back down on his pillow, leaning back on the wall at the corner of his room.  "Wh…”  Was he really going to do this?  Play pretend-sex over the phone with a stranger over the fantasy of an admittedly good-looking upperclassman who showed his affection by being a asshole?  "What do you have in mind now?" 

"If you’re alone, pet, then let me in.  And I can show you how you’re mine.” 

“Look,” he snapped, feeling his cheeks burn in embarrassment.  "I told you I’m not your pet or anything, so quit calling me-" 

" **Shut your mouth** ," Ninety-six hissed, "and tell me that you’re alone.” 

“I  _am_  alone but what does that matter,” Yuma nearly roared, and realized that either this guy was really good at voicing the part of an asshole or Yuma himself was just really prone to this fantasy.  He covered his face, his voice growing even more squeaky in embarrassment.  "I’m not playing with you, weirdo.  Go and get a hobby instead of bothering me." 

"Oh, but you  _are_  my hobby.  Now give me your hand. Trust me.” 

“Psh.” Yuma pulled his hand back onto the floor beside him.  "Trust you?  Yeah, like how I trusted you that time I agreed to watch a movie with you and you ended up dragging me into a streetfight?  Or that time you told me that your neighbor’s dog didn’t bite?  …Dammit, I hate hanging out with you." 

"But you love being with me.  I can see it,” he purred. “It’s fun, isn’t it?  Letting me drag you, having me hold you so you can’t leave.  You like it when I touch you, don’t you?” 

“I don’t even like having you  _near_  me,” Yuma replied roughly.  "Not when you’re being pushy.  How about you try a high-five instead of just grabbing someone from behind the next time you want to greet them?" 

"Give me your hand,” he repeated, “and I’ll be gentle. I promise,” he cooed through his teeth. 

Yuma paused, then sighed, annoyed - the way he would have done if Ninety-six were actually asking for his hand so that he’d give it to him.  "Yeah, yeah.  What do you want with it?" 

"Follow where I’m making it move.  Touch your shirt.” 

He did, but paused.  "W-Wait,” he stammered.  "This is…” 

“-What you want,” Ninety-six kissed his ear.  "Be a good boy.  You know how much I’ve want this.  Drag it lower, Yuma.  Lower.“ 

Yuma’s fingers twitched as they roamed down to the bottom of his shirt.  He…He was paying for this.  He knew it would come to something like this.  Ninety-six was behind him now, wrapping himself all over him and coaching him.  Cocky and playful and rough, saying his name and panting gleefully as he pulled Yuma’s shirt up with his own hand. 

"Yuma,” he breathed. 

“Huh?” The movement stopped, and the heat that had begun to tingle in his stomach vanished.  His red face turned white.  "Hey.  I-I never gave you my name." 

The panting stopped, and it hit Yuma just how well the man was able to spontaneously get into his role.  ”Ohhh shit,“ Yuma whimpered.  "Fuck no, you’re not-…not-…” 

There was no answer, so Yuma screamed, “ _F **uck**_ **. Fuck no!** ”  He stood up angrily, grasping onto the desk beside him and nearly flipping it over in rage.  ” _Ninety-six_ , that can **not**  really be you on this line–” 

“I won’t tell,” Ninety-six answered.  Yuma screamed, his thumb slamming down and crushing the End Call button before he dropped the device and collapsed on his stomach, his crying, screaming face burying itself into his pillow. 

• 

“Yuma!  My pe-” 

“ _Don’t!_  touch me, pervert!” Yuma roared, swinging his fist at Ninety-six, though the upperclassman quickly dodged it.  Yuma’s face burned again at seeing the other leer.  ” _Shut up!_ “ He replied.  "Don’t ever talk to me ever again.  I never liked you, I’ve always hated you.  I can’t wait until you graduate and move out of town so that I’ll never have to hear your voice again!” 

Ninety-six let the boy strut towards the school’s entrance, cackling at the confused and weary expression Astral was giving him.  "What got into him,” Ninety-six shrugged.  "Maybe my little toy is just  _finally growing into a **man**_.” 

Yuma snapped his glare at the cousins, but the warring look he gave Ninety-six only made the senior go into another fit of snickering. 


	2. Chapter 2

It was the only gift left unopen, still in its plain wrapper – a small thing that Ninety-six had pretty much just shoved into Yuma’s arms after pulling him aside so that no one would notice what would have otherwise been Ninety-six  _very conspicuously_ manhandling his junior. 

“Happy birthday.” Ninety-six had breathed into Yuma’s face, warm and slow out of a thin, pleased smile. Surprisingly, the upperclassmen left immediately after instead of roughhousing Yuma further or pegging him into a fun outing. Yuma was left with the choice of throwing out what was no doubt a ridiculous present or keeping it. 

Now, he sighs, or rather huffs, not so much steeling himself as resigning himself to the choice of just  _getting it over with_. How bad could it be, really – it’s a small box. Maybe it’s a box of condoms, or a dildo. Maybe it’s a sextape. Yuma shudders, and if he happens to unwrap this gift in particular with more reluctance and with an obvious effort to touch it as little as possible, it’s only for him to know. 

The antique clock to his side strikes ten, the sound having grown soft in its age, but he stays awake and away from his cards or Pad. He lifts the lid of the small box, revealing a USB tucked snuggly in a bed of foam. 

“It  _is_  a sextape,” he groans quietly to himself. He could be wrong, but knowing Ninety-six, what else could it be. Again, he considers simply throwing it out, but knows he’d agonize later over what could it have been. Still, it could have a virus – just one more, and possibly the last, thing Ninety-six would do to dick around with him before the senior would graduate from the school he and Yuma share. 

He brings his Pad closer anyway, chucking immediately the option of witnessing what Ninety-six could have gotten him with Kotori or Astral by his side for  _moral support_ ; it would probably be too embarrassing to witness in front of company, anyway. Besides, Yuma wonders, lips near trembling as he inserts the USB to the side of his Pad, it might even be a  _recording_. Of  _that night_. 

A new window pops up on the screen. Ninety-six’s gift has only two files in it, apparently – a rare photo of Yuma and Ninety-six together, one looking more cheerful than the other, and – Yuma rubs hard at his face – an audio file. 

“Oh fuck.” Ninety-six still hasn’t  _let that go_. They haven’t really  _talked_  about that night much after the relentless teasing in the first few weeks after, and Ninety-six seemed content to keep that memory just between themselves. Still, the knowing looks and the emphasis on certain key phrases Ninety-six had used over the phone that night were enough for it to feel like something was being held over Yuma’s head. 

He stares with flat, dead eyes at the two files sitting on the forefront of his screen, his hand having rested over his mouth to keep from groaning or crying out loud enough to be heard by his grandma or sis. With the same weariness he held at just approaching his gift before, Yuma stands to fetch his earphones. 

The energy and joy that he had held just an hour before downstairs, at his birthday party, before cleanup, has dissipated, and with that mood, he taps to play the file. 

It’s not a recording of that night. “Happy birthday,” Ninety-six coos, slow and lingering like the breath he had touched Yuma with earlier today, “my sweet, favorite pet. I bet you’re feeling like such a  _big boy_  now…–” 

“Ohmygod,” Yuma hisses at the ceiling, hand hovering over the pause button but not quite touching. In the back of his mind, he knows what’s coming, but he has to be sure, he has to get through the whole thing. 

“I decided that you deserved to save your energy for your special day. You know I could have made you use up all your strength if I wanted, had you all to myself, and you would have been  _so tired_  at your party. But I let you have your fun.  _Don’t I treat you so well?_ ” 

Yuma’s face immediately feels on fire in a way that it hasn’t in a while; he doesn’t know what Black Mist has been up to, but after the long while of shamelessly flirting with Yuma in light of that clusterfuck of a phonecall, Ninety-six’s efforts to make Yuma’s face red with embarrassment or indignation had simply faded. He could have kept going – had kept pushing the buttons he now _knew_  Yuma has and played the role of the arrogant, controlling, pushy guilty-pleasure crush, but Yuma assumed that Ninety-six had simply become bored of the act. 

Hearing it all again, though he’d never admit, let it occur to Yuma that yeah, this is a pretty decent birthday present. Still listening, he exhales, pushing his head in his arms as well. 

“Now I want to give you something else.” Ninety-six says, would-be affectionate. “I’m  _that_  generous, and it’ll let you know just how generous I could be if you’d just let me be your boyfriend. You remember that night you told me just how much you liked me, Yuma? Did you like touching yourself just because I  _told you_  to? Fucking filthy.” 

“Dick,” Yuma counters, mumbling, rubbing his forehead against his arms. He would have done it. He would have went through with it. He can’t even tell Ninety-six he’s wrong. 

“You’re such a naughty piece of ass, you know that? Now no one has to know, tonight. Not even me. I should come over to your window right now and teach you a lesson on just how lucky you are that I’m letting you do this on your own, instead of making sure myself that you  _finish yourself off_  this time. But that’s my gift to you, pet; you’ll do everything I say and know that you’re just doing all of this to yourself, with no one else to blame.” 

 _You don’t have to_. Yuma could pause the recording now, reply to Ninety-six’s demands and domineering come-on’s the same way he’d do if Ninety-six were to approach him like this in-person, with Astral or Tetsuo or another witness who would see them just at the next corner. Say “fuck you,” do the opposite of Black Mist’s desires, stomp off and revel in his own defiance. 

“I like you too, Yuma.” Ninety-six smiles; Yuma can hear it. “But you know that already. Are you alone again, pet, all by yourself? Are you going to let me touch your stomach? Your skin’s so smooth, it always has been–” 

He knows what Ninety-six is asking him to do, and, part curious, he complies – slides one hand down to place the tips of his fingers over the skin on his waist, just over his pants. Ninety-six’s hands would have  _stretched_  over Yuma, would have gripped and pulled, and Yuma’s own hand twitches at the thought. 

“Give me your hand. Can you feel why I always want to touch you? Not just here. When was the last time I got a cop out of your ass, or those mean little thighs? Do you know they can go so soft to hard in a minute when you’re mad, when you tense up? What else gets that tight when I touch you, Yuma?” 

Hands wrap around his thigh, still in the pants Ninety-six had nearly settled himself on top of when he’d given Yuma his present. It isn’t as tough and hard as Ninety-six said it would be, as it would if Black Mist himself were the one actually doing the groping, but Yuma can feel a hint of what Ninety-six recorded, of something he’s never even considered about his body before, can feel himself stiffening. 

“Same for those rock hard arms you have, kitten. You always flex for me when you’re mad; can you blame me for wanting to see that? Or do you do it on purpose, like some sneaky little flirt? What else goes hard for me, Yuma? Are those shy little nipples you never want to show me as desperate for attention as the rest of you? I bet they are.” 

Finally, Yuma growls, as he tends to do when Ninety-six speaks to him with such a  _dirty tongue_  in-person. “Fucking asshole,” Despite himself, the retort comes out as a whimper. He comes close to falling hard and hitting his head on the desk that the Pad rests on, but settles on crouching over himself, hiding from the rest of the room the fact that he is actually slipping his hands up his shirt, laying shaking hands on his nipples and trying to decide whether or not to do  _more_  – whatever that might entail. He doesn’t really know. Rub, tug, press? 

He might just pass out from how warm and airy his head feels from doing something as simple as  _sating a curiosity_. 

“Shh, shh. I know this is hard for you.” The comfort Ninety-six tries to offer is drowned out by his own voice going shallow and husky, eager or mockingly gleeful. Yuma grits his teeth against the possible patronize. “You’re just so used to being a bad boy for me, always fighting this. It feels new to finally just do as you’re told, doesn’t it? Let’s make it easier. Get this out of the way, Yuma. Take it off. I want to touch more of you.” 

Black Mist pauses, most likely having known that Yuma would need more time now to consider it. Taking off his clothes now would be a huge step to… Yuma bites his lip, clenching his eyes shut. This has gone far enough. He’s had his _fun_ , he knows what the recording consists of now, and if he wants to see it to the end, he could just skip to it instead of listening to the whole thing. 

“ **Yuma.** ” His reverie is snapped at the first instance of aggression Ninety-six has expressed in the recording. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” 

 _How did he know?_  It takes him longer than he’d care to admit to pry his own hands from himself, an odd feeling of shame slowing his movements and making his hands jerky and rigid when going to rest on his Pad.  _Shame because I let myself fall for something Ninety-six wanted me to do_ , he thinks, and tries to push the other possibility far from his mind.  _Because I didn’t finish_. 

A light tap on pause allows Yuma to stare at his Pad and at his reflection on the screen in a daze. Even from the dim image of himself staring back at him, he can tell that he is still flushed. His eyes are bright. 

It takes him a moment for the image to sit with him, to admit that he had given the recording a chance, and so he doesn’t notice the notification sitting in the corner of the screen at first, with a timestamp of over ten minutes ago. His eyes flutter wide at reading the sender. 

_Missed call. One new message_

_call me ♥_  


	3. Chapter 3

It is only after having tossed and turned on his side for countless times and getting hit with the fact that his clock is displaying the fact that it is already the too-early A.M. after his birthday that Yuma finishes it, sinking onto the cushions on his floor and propping his Pad beside him before plugging his earphones back on. He had turned his Gazer on silent, but the Pad showed the extra two missed messages for it anyway. 

 _did u like it?_  

 _see u tomorrow_  

Briefly, Yuma entertains the thought of reacting to Ninety-six tomorrow – or, rather, later today – the same way he did after the phonecall before; yell at him, glare, play off the blush and shame that would no doubt show on his face. Then again, how well Yuma could pull the act off could depend on how he’d end this night. 

“Good boy,” Ninety-six greets him when Yuma finds the place where he’d left off earlier. “So pretty, and strong. Don’t hunch over yourself so much – you can fight this another day. But not tonight. Let yourself be mine tonight.” 

Yuma tightens his lips at the words; Ninety-six had a way of nearly hissing, of giving the impression – even without a visual – that he was speaking through a sharp smile, all teeth and no softness. It occurs to Yuma as he removes his shirt with the same prolonging attitude he gave to opening his gift that, if not for Black Mist’s obvious cunning and perverse intent, his words might actually sound sweet. 

They’re not. “ _Ohh_ , Yuma…” Ninety-six had wanted Yuma to rub himself, feel his own skin and imagine that the nails grazing him were sharper, the palms more bold. As it is, Yuma holds himself with nearly-flat hands, torn between a self-hug and the sensual strokes Ninety-six desired. “Don’t pretend to be shy, birthday boy. You’re never shy. I know it’s all just an act when you get flustered and hissy. So coy. I know you want this. You want me to teach you a lesson for always lying about it.” 

 _Disgusting_ , Yuma snaps at him silently, not for the first time. Where does Ninety-six get off talking to Yuma like this, like Yuma would ever let the guy bend him over and humiliate him? 

Where does Yuma get off from thinking that this kind of asshole can sometimes be kind of hot regardless? 

He can see it, has fantasized it already a couple of times – if they still know each other later in life, if they still saw each other, he can already consider the casual sex.  _Casual_  in the sense that Ninety-six could  _never_  be his partner seriously, couldn’t even be considered a partner in  _any_  sense. But later, or in another life, he might consider another kind of arrangement; Ninety-six leaning just a little bit closer, a fun night out waning into the time for rest, a small smile and lidded eyes suggestion enough even without the verbal proposal for more: “Bored?” Ninety-six would know how to fix that. 

“Why don’t I choke you with your own hand?” Against the previous direction, Yuma hunches forward even more, his face landing on top of a pillow. “You’re always making yourself pretend that you never think about this. You’ve only brought this on yourself. Now you’re going to be the one to punish yourself for it.  _Move_  your fucking hand, Yuma – get it on that neck.” 

It is nearing three o’clock, and Yuma allows his first groan, part contemptible arousal and part genuine anger against Ninety-six’s making of demands. Still in his fetal-like hunch, he feels his hand flex with his temper, shaping into a claw as he moves it to rub hard at the back of his neck. The rough movement pulls at his hair, which, ridiculously, makes him think that Ninety-six himself would, intentionally, if this were real. 

“ _Tighter_.” Ninety-six demands. Yuma shifts once with ire, rocking once in a smooth push forward, deeper into his cushions, as he twists Ninety-six’s order and fists the hand over his neck. “I’ll tell you a secret, my coy, dirty boy. I’d have you like this every night if I could. I’d mark your neck as often as I could, make you look like the pretty pet we both know you’d be so good at being.” 

Yuma grits his teeth, the whimper that escapes him holding a hiss of the aggression and chagrin he feels at the sentiments. He doesn’t hesitate this time – knew it was coming, anyway – when Ninety-six gets to the part, “Let’s get you to touch yourself, give yourself what we both know you want. Give it to yourself, Yuma. No one has to know. You’ve probably already done this to yourself dozens of times before, haven’t you, dirty boy?  _Faster_.” 

Yuma already was, if only to just  _get it over with_ , pumping himself in his own pants without anymore foreplay or finesse in order to get over the guilt and ridiculousness of the situation, of the fact that he  _got hard_  from this in the first place, had  _given it a chance_  in the first place. The day of Ninety-six moving away after his graduation, when Yuma wouldn’t have to face him so frequently on campus grounds and around town, couldn’t come soon enough. 

“I want you to think about how nice I am to you, how I gave you all that time to spend with your friends, how I’m letting you do this now.” It’s rare that Yuma hears Ninety-six speak with this deep of a voice, low and dripping. “I’m practically spoiling you. I want to see a fucking mark on your skin tomorrow as a show of thankfulness. And I want that cheeky cock you’re always hiding from me to  _hurt_. Giving me such a rough time whenever I see you, you deserve to know just how it feels when your hands squeeze too tight and rub too hard. Tighter, Yuma. There better be tears when you cum.” 

The crying wouldn’t be from the pain (even though it is, even though it would have been best for Yuma if he’d defy Ninety-six and  _not_  hurt himself the way Black Mist had demanded); it would be from Yuma seeing himself now, rocking and stroking himself to the shadiest guy he’s yet to meet, pride beaten and thrown out the fucking window. It would be from doing something he would never admit to another person in his life. 

When he finally spills, he realizes he’s been biting the pillow beneath him, and so slacks his jaw to release it. He pants quietly, looking, unfocused, to where his Gazer is still blinking a small light intermittently for the messages he’s yet to read or clear. Moments later, Ninety-six speaks again. “Good boy.” 

The praise is repeated softly, as though soothing Yuma to sleep. Ninety-six would pet him, Yuma knows. The guy has tried to, before, and has been shrugged off every time. Yuma lets the imaginary hand do it now. “My big birthday boy. I knew you could do it. I knew you’d enjoy my gift.” 

How? Yuma could have just as easily thrown the gift out soon after having received it, could have easily stopped listening and trashed it then too.  _How well does he know me?_  Yuma’s never really considered the two of them close the way he is with his other companions, but they share Something Else; he doesn’t think he’d  _do this_ for many of his other friends. And as not-close as they are, Ninety-six knows Yuma well enough that, likely, he’d taken Yuma’s curiosity as a strong factor on how he’d react to the recording. 

 _see u tomorrow_. Standing up slowly, awkward from the wetness he’s going to have to clean up now, Yuma wonders if he  _can_  see him tomorrow – if Yuma can actually do something as simple as glare and make an angry retort when Ninety-six smirks at him knowingly to his face. The scenario is enough to bring another, new blush to Yuma’s face, when just having to go to the washroom with the mess between his legs would have already been enough. 

• 

Everyone, thankfully, gives up asking Yuma what he possibly could have stayed up doing last night for him to seem so exhausted today. Likely it was just a post-party activity that seeped out the remaining of Yuma’s energy yesterday and left him drained now. Kotori and Astral kept sending him concerned looks, but otherwise left him to his own wearied state. 

It is only after their group splits up for the day, each saying their goodbyes and heading home, that Yuma meets him. At the very least, Ninety-six doesn’t make it a bad habit to harass Yuma at his house, and only once before has Yuma been greeted with the sight of Black Mist loitering in his neighborhood. Ninety-six smiles from the far corner going to Yuma’s house, avoiding Haru’s potential gaze and getting Yuma alone. Yuma doesn’t think Black Mist is being considerate so much as sneaky. 

“…Well?” He asks when Yuma remains quiet. To Yuma’s credit, he  _can_  meet Ninety-six’s stare. It merely comes with the cost of his face heating up once more. Ninety-six smiles wider. “Let me see it.” 

“There’s nothing,” Yuma mumbles, chalking out the option of playing clueless, because why bother at this point. He already knows what Ninety-six is asking because he’s checked himself – first thing after waking up this morning. The skin around his neck, even at its back, where he’d rubbed and fisted, remains pristine and healthy. Ninety-six’s lips purse in only the slightest show of disappointment. “Like I’d hurt myself just because you tell me.” 

“A shame.” Ninety-six tsks, voice still low and soft even as his bodily approach seems, to Yuma, looming. “It would have looked  _very pretty_.” 

Yuma doesn’t stop or shrug off the hand that comes to his jaw, or the hand that comes around him to rest low on his back. Ninety-six pulls him close, and Yuma’s first kiss is one meeting a gleeful smile, pressed and lingering before Ninety-six opens his lips and tugs at Yuma’s with his teeth. 

Yuma’s eyes close. He breathes in, slow, just as Ninety-six’s tongue peeks into Yuma’s mouth, meeting no resistance past his lips and rows of teeth to meet briefly with Yuma’s tongue just to stroke, and then Ninety-six retreats, pulling back to stare at Yuma’s face. He briefly kisses him again. 

“Good boy,” he hisses; sighs when Yuma winces at the phrase, and strokes his cheek. “You loved it, didn’t you? I loved making it for you, thought of doing it ever since I found out just how much you think of me, of how you think of me. My filthy little pet.” 

“Stop,” Yuma snaps, lowers his eyes instead of glaring as he would, before – as he should. “I’m not your  _pet_ ,” he spits. “I’m not doing this to be your pet.” 

Something hangs in the air between them, and when Yuma doesn’t go on, Ninety-six cups his face with both hands, their touch light but the fingers curved like claws. “No,” Ninety-six agrees, his stare catching Yuma’s eyes so that theirs meet. “You’re doing this because it feels good.” 

He is rewarded by Yuma’s face blooming with the blood under the flesh of his cheeks and neck, and leans in capture Yuma’s silent lips once more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear fandom, 
> 
> Sorry.
> 
> ( You can find the Tumblr link for this fic and my other old works in "empraise.tumblr.com/fanfiction" )
> 
> "[Ninety-six voice] [breathes] Click on Kudos, pet. Do it."


End file.
